Nine Out of Ten

The boy went back to his home in Como, with his family. He hadn't told anyone about the octopus incident. One day his tutor gave him the task of composing a story, to test how his Latin was coming along.

The boy spent a long time on his story. He told it in the first person singular. He told of how, on a holiday with his family in Naples, he had ventured far out onto a reef and engaged in a mighty tussle with an octopus that was trying to drag him down into the sea, and of how he had eventually escaped.

He was pleased with his story, and so was his tutor.

A well told story, said the tutor. It is grammatically correct in every way, containing well chosen and evocative adjectives and adverbs, while all the verbs are properly placed at the end of each sentence. I shall award you nine out of ten. If the story had not been so ridiculously fanciful, you would have got ten out of ten.

Ooh! said Lavender. That's MEAN!

Woaah! said Baby Pierre. But your story was TRUE!

Yes, said Gaius. It was.

How do we know? said Anoctopus. We only have your word for it.

We know because the story is that the story was true, said Gaius.

Wup! said Anoctopus. Well said, old natural historian from Como! May I ask whether you are the famous Pliny the Elder?

I am, said Gaius, modestly.

So you know a lot about volcanoes? said Anoctopus.

More than I care to, said Gaius, if you include my last brush with one.

I am currently studying volcanoes, said Anctopus. Have you by any chance read The Twenty One Balloons?

Blackberries and a Fig

Blackberries! said Pliny he Elder. Where did you get those?

We got them from the hills, I said. Picked only half an hour ago. They're really fresh.

That reminds me of a story, said Pliny.

Is it about blackberries? I asked.

No, he said. It's about Cato the Elder, and a fig.

I am intrigued, I said. Go on.

Cato, said Pliny, is a hero of mine. He was a soldier farmer, and he rose to become a consul, and a censor, although he was a plebeian. He represented the old Roman values of simplicity and hard work.

And cruelty, I said. I've heard of him.

Nonsense, said Pliny. He was not cruel. But he was somewhat obsessed with the necessity of destroying Carthage.

Carthago Delenda Est! I cried, happily remembering my Latin.

Yes. He used to say it at the end of every speech he made.

Like pollies do today. Stop the Boats!

Something like that. But Cato did succeed in persuading the Romans to embark upon the third Punic War. And he did it by means of a fig.

A fig?

A fig. He brought a fresh fig into the forum one day and showed it around. How old do you think this fig is? he asked. Everyone agreed it looked very fresh. It was picked two days ago, said Cato. IN CARTHAGE!

So? I said, not getting it.

So, said Pliny, That put the wind up the senators, well and truly. To think that the Carthaginians were only as far away from Rome as that! So they agreed to go to war.

Is that true? I asked.

Yes, it is recorded, said Pliny.

That's shocking on so many levels, I said.

Pulitzer Prize

really ageless?? mmango is the tammmmil word for mmango?

ageless, mmango is the ENGLISH word for mmango! the tammil word is maangai. you don't know tammil.

the old tommatoes are gone, and there are new ones. they all say mmango. i tried to converse with them. i said, mmango? they replied, mmango. i think i amm getting somewhere...it is something to do with eating, as in mmanger which is french.

i did like your story ageless, oh how i liked it. i immagined mmyself floating on an inflatable havaiana in the water a pink one with flowers like the girl had, floating that is my dreamm, being a stone you see i could not float unaided.

have you any mmore of these lovely seaside stories?

i have finished stephen fry i finished him this mmorning and gave himm to mmy sister. yes i have a sister it is not immpossible. did you think it was?

mmy sister lives beside mmme on the window sill she is not really mmy sister she is a stone, a real one. she has been here nearly as long as mme but not as long.

she is the same pale colour as mme she has black stone ears offset eyes and a beauty spot she looks like a crosseyed mmouse or from certain angles a frog. how do i know? i know because we are bosommm friends and she has told mme what she looks like.

she wants to read the stephen fry. now i can get on with reading hummboldt's gift. it is ammerican, do you think you would like it ageless? it won the pulitzer prize.

Your Sister, Kobo?

dear kobo sorry,,,sorry for lying,,,,,

but i know something of latin all the same,,,,,,if the tomatoes are saying mango mango mango i do not think they can be speaking latin,,,,

mango is the latin word for dealer,,,, no,,, i think they are more likely speaking tamil,,,,,in tamil mango is the word for a mango,,,,,

yes i have a story for you kobo it is about another beach another day a very hot day ,,,,,i was at noarlunga i was at the cliff end where the river meets the sea,,,,sitting in the water,,,,

some young humans were sitting in the water in a row,,,,, they were looking at a boy who was standing half way up the cliff on a ledge,,,,,jump they called out jump,,,,, he didn't want to then he did,,,,,,kersplash,,,, easy!!! a wussy boy ,,,,,

there were lots of humans in the river playing ,,,,,some were very white,,,, two were floating on inflatable shoes,,,, the name of the inflatable shoes was havaianas,,,,,, it looked so comfy to be floating on the havaianas,,,, the girl's was pink with flowers and the boy's was like the australian flag,,,,,,,everyone was laughing laughing,,,,,no one minded that the river was much dirtier than the sea,,,,

some big men climbed the cliff and jumped in from a higher ledge,,,, to do better than the boys,,,,some girls were looking,,,,not everyone was looking,,,,

do you like it kobo???

kobo,,,,,,no i do not think i like your stephen fry book,,,,,,i don't like funny things or universities,,,,,i am a lobster,,,,,,hurry up and finish it and give it to your sister,,,,, that reminds me kobo,,,

how is it you have a sister???? you are a fossilised clam,,,,of course there is a logical answer,,, please tell your good friend,,,,,

ageless xx

The Fry Chronicles

dear ageless how immmmpatient you are,

no i was not scared i have been trying to learn the language of tommmmatoes and i think i have discovered sommething this is what it is:

the tommatoes only have one word they say it all the timmme and what they say is manngo mmango mmango mmango, this leads mme to deduce they are speaking latin what do you think ageless?

although i note that you were lying about your knowing of their language.

why did you do that ageless??? we are friends we should not lie.

i like part two of your story of the japanese girls, do you think the answer to the mmmmystery
is that they left the beach to change their clothes , and that you simmply didn't see themmm go?

but it doesn't mmmatter, it is a most delightful and mmysterious story. have you any mmmore?

i want to tell you a story too, would you like mmme to?

only i can't just now because i ammm reading like the clappers sommething that i don't think you would like, it is the fry chronicles it is about stephen fry the mman who wrote it. he wrote it about himself you would be bored. there is no sand in it no stones or pebbles only stories about cammmmbridge university and the footlights club and his commmmedy career i like it myself i ammm into commmedy and the nammme droppings of english life

i bet you aren't, being a lobster

i have to finish it quick because mmy sister wants it,

therefore byebye for now agelesss, but keep on writing to mmme i always have timme for you my dearest agelesss

your dearest kobo x

After, and Before

After the Rubber Band Debate we decided to go for a walk. I remember thinking, during the walk, that if the Tour de France was over, I would be paying more attention to my surroundings.

That is not to say I was thinking about the Tour De France.

I was coasting, observing nothing properly.

How lucky I was to have had that thought. For, from the moment that I thought it, I began to observe things properly again, but in a different way.

That was last Saturday. Let us see how long the proper memory has lasted.

We left mum sitting on a seat. No, that's wrong, we left her just about to sit down on a seat. She probably sat down on it after that. But by then we were walking south along the footpath towards Seacliff.

The sea was on our right, slopping and gleaming like molten steel in a bowl. Then the sand heaps, ugly. Then the dunes and struggling grasses. Then the gnarled and twisted bushes, the decrepit fence, the footpath, and us walking on it, towards Seacliff.

We were talking about something in Latin. That is not to say we were speaking Latin. We can't do that. We were talking about a word, errato, and whether it existed....

After that we fell silent. There was a sound, probably of the sea, slopping. What else could it have been? And another sound, probably of rustling bushes, or a bouncing car. Whatever the sounds, they were enough to make me think about listening, so then I heard another car, and several birds.

On the way back, northwards, towards Hove, we seemed to be somehow tilted towards the sky. I suppose the path must go uphill very slightly. In any case, I remember looking at the clouds which looked like solid lumps of dirty yellow wadding. Far away above the horizon a slash of blue sky promised the sun, by means of a triangulation of sunbeams. But minutes before it appeared, we had to turn up Smith Street.

What is Quiddity or What Quiddity Is.

The Intellectual Pineapple has an interesting vocabulary, observed Pliny the Elder. What do you think he means by the word 'quiddity'?

You should know, I said. Doesn't it come from the Latin 'quidditas', meaning essence?

I don't think so, said Pliny. I don't remember a word like that. It must be one of those new-fangled pseudo-philosophical medieval scholastic coinages.

That makes sense, I agreed. I wondered why it wasn't in the Latin dictionary. But 'quid' means 'what', right?

Right, said Pliny.

So 'quiddity' means 'whatness', obviously.

But what is the whatness of anything? asked Pliny.

It's the quality or qualities without which it wouldn't be itself, I said.

I don't hold with that sort of thing, said Pliny.

You never did think much of the Greeks did you, Pliny. Listen, take a simple example like a table. What are the things which constitute its essence, would you say?

A flat top, said Pliny, and four legs.

I agree about the flat top, I said, but it might have more or less legs.

Alright said Pliny. A flat top, and any number of legs between three and infinity.

Two and infinity.

A table with only two legs would fall over, said Pliny. It wouldn't constitute a proper table.

You are wrong, Pliny. I said. I have seen a table with only two legs. Not only that but the legs were both at the same end. At the other end there was a cross-piece with two semicircles cut out of it and these were placed over your legs when you sat in your chair.

Galloping Jupiter! said Pliny. There is no quiddity in such a table. No whatness that makes it a table. If I were to coin a word for such a singular table it would be 'haecceity', or 'thisness'.

Too late Pliny, That pseudo-philosophical medieval scholar Duns Scotus has beaten you to it.

Pliny's eyebrows shot up like two semicircles in the cross-piece of a haecceitous table.

Pliny's Haiku

Pliny the Elder is looking as though he hasn't had much sleep.

Good morning Pliny? I say. How's the Haiku coming along?

It's more difficult than I expected, he answers wearily. I have made multiple attempts to better your Haiku.

Read them out, I say, encouragingly.

Alright, here is my first attempt:

the sign on the path
reads no boats allowed in the yellow areas
which is amusing

Pliny! that's no good. You don't say why it's amusing, and no one would guess.

I know, says Pliny. I told you it was my first attempt. Here is my second:

surely this sign
would be better directed
at boats ?

Hmm. That doesn't do it either, Pliny. You don't explain what the sign says.

True, says Pliny. But stay with me. I'm just letting you in on the creative process. Here is my third attempt:

what is the point
of facing a sign directed at vessels
inland?

That's a bit better, but it doesn't sound very poetic, and it still leaves out a lot. What the sign says, what colour it is.....

Exactly, says Pliny. I came to the realization late last night that English is not the best language for Haiku. And since I am unfamiliar with Japanese, I decided to write one in Latin. I think you will agree that I have succeeded rather well.

Go on.

Pliny stands up and declaims in his best Roman style:

naves non licet ( boats not allowed )
in regione flava ( in the yellow area )
non ante naves ( not facing the boats )

I am silent.

Why are you silent?

I'm silent with admiration Pliny. That is so Japanese! You've got everything in. It's mind-boggling. You've even got the correct number of syllables!

Yes, says, Pliny. I know. Thank you.

Motto

Pliny the Elder looks surprised. Whose is this new Latin Dictionary and Grammar? he wonders aloud.

It's mine, I say.

What do you need that for? he asks. You can find out anything you need to know from me.

You are not always here, I reply. For example you went away at Christmas. Which was when I was asked to come up with the Latin for a motto.

What was the motto? asks Pliny.

'I stand aside', I reply. Or in Latin, 'Separatim maneo'.

Very nice, says Pliny, approvingly. Very nice indeed. But not your motto, obviously.

No, not my motto. I would like a motto, if only I could think of one.

I thought your motto was 'No day without a line', says Pliny.

That's more of a reminder, I say. No, I want something that sums me up, in Latin.

First, says Pliny, you must find something that sums you up in English.

I know, I say, but nothing does.

How about 'Nothing sums her up'?

What would that be in Latin?

'Nihil summatim', perhaps.

That seems a little terse. And where am I, in that?

I left you out, for brevity.

Sorry Poem for Pliny

Pliny, this poem is for you:

Me paenitet pudor
deflectere facie rubrae
ex medio publica
induco anum emergentem
ex mare flammea
sub caelo pulveris;
florae parvae, subrufi colori;
et sonitus noctis candens.

Deterior tuo possuent,
nisi prima verba deleta
at tamen, me excuso.

What's this? says Pliny, reading my poetical offering. Are you saying you are sorry? Your Latin is so abysmal that I cannot be sure.

Yes, I'm saying sorry. What's wrong with it?

Translate it for me, says Pliny.

Alright:

Sorry I am, wishing to deflect
the shame of your red face
from public view
I introduced an old woman emerging
from the sea under a sky of dust;
small flowers of reddish hue;
and the glowing red night noise.

It could have been worse for you
had I not deleted what I first wrote
but nevertheless
sorry I am.

Jupiter! exclaimed Pliny. What did you first write? Never mind, he added quickly. Your verb endings are all wrong and your nouns and adjectives don't agree properly. And you are ambiguous as to whether you are excusing yourself or asking me to excuse you.

I thought you would like it, Pliny. But as to the verb endings and the nouns, some crucial pages have fallen out of my Latin dictionary.

That need not be a disaster, says Pliny kindly, since you have me.

Pax Plini

Sorry, Pliny. Let's be friends again. I have written you a poem:

Pax Plini!
De luna non discordia fiat
Graphis pisci mea est
Semper adhibeo
Tu meus alter ego es
Et te suspicio.


Pliny the Elder: Thankyou that is very accomplished, but let me translate it into English for the benefit of your non-Latin reading friends.

Peace Pliny!
Let us no longer argue over the moon
The fish-topped pencil is my own
I use it all the time
You are my alter ego
And I admire/mistrust you.

Let your readers judge which meaning of 'suspicio' you had in mind.